The grip I had on her hips loosened and I looked down to where I was holding her. Red marks splayed across her skin and I knew she’d end up with bruises in the morning. I’d taken her harder than I anticipated, but she knew to expect it.
Pulling out of her, she slumped down to catch her breath. I got off the bed and started to put my clothes back on. This was where most of the women got disappointed. I didn’t cuddle or speak words of praise. She was there for one reason. It was the only way I did things.
As I was tucking my shirt into my pants I looked down at her. She was curled into a ball and almost looked asleep.
“Stay as long as you like,” I said softly, before walking out of the room to get my things. She would stay in the room until she heard the click from the door closing. Then she’d more than likely take a shower before leaving.
I never stayed.
I’d go home and wash it all away. I’d convince myself that I was doing nothing wrong, that it was nothing like my past. It never worked, but it never stopped me from continuing either.